Of Scars and Skinners
by virgo-24
Summary: Shall I end your fear and misery now? Shall I grant you Salvation from this meaningless world?" Zsasz questioned the 'Zombie Doctor' who had been ignoring him completely. The surgeon known as Tracy Roth turned her amber eyes towards her psychopathic stalker, regarding him silently. A smirk slowly overtook her face. "I'm just dying, to see you try."(ZsaszXOc) Full summary inside.
1. Intro

**Of Scars and Skinners**

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**Hello my lovely readers, I see that you've stumbled onto my tale. A tale of love and murder, twists and turns abound in this humble fic of mine. A story featuring the mass murderer of Gotham City…Victor Zsasz (who doesn't have **_**nearly **_**enough stories on this website and whose name is **_**misspelled **_**in the character select****?! #*% #$!?) Actually, that's recently been fixed…yay!**

**I've never wrote a murderer before… jerkish people, sadists, and tortures yes but never a murderer. Well, technically two murders. Zsasz and my original character. While not as outwardly brutal and psychotic as 'The Butcher' of Gotham himself her 'methods' are one of a kind for certain.**

**Her name is Tracy Roth… upstanding citizen, socialite, and business woman of California…and a serial murderer.**

**OC**

**Height: ****5'4**

**Weight:****120**

**Age:****32**

**Name Meaning: **

** Her first name Tracy can be traced back to Anglo-Saxon and Latin origins, translates as meaning 'Brave' or 'Bold'. She however, prefers the Greek meaning of her name which would be 'Harvester'. Her last name Roth can mean either 'Renown' or 'Red'. Roth is an English/German name that can be interpreted as red for the spilling of blood by ancient Germanic soldiers. So 'Roth, Tracy' would literally mean 'Red Harvester'.**

**Appearance: **

**Although having a rather short stature and not appearing physically imposing Tracy can still be very fast and dangerous in a fight. Her small size gives her an advantage against larger and slower enemies. Her eyes are a bright amber color with reddish orange flecks around the pupil. Her hair is wavy and dark brown in color, falling down against her shoulders. Her legs are long compared to her upper body giving her an advantage if she needs to run and make a quick exit. As a socialite and someone who is in the public eye often her attire usually consists of fancy dresses and expensive accessories. However being a rich stuck-up socialite isn't really her thing. When she isn't busy with charity events and fundraises she likes to just curl up at home in jeans and t-shirts. There is a scar on her throat, running from one side to the other. An attempt at slitting her throat. The scar is slightly jagged, shallow, and clumsy looking; having been cut with a serrated blade by someone with an unsteady hand. (More on that later in the story).**

**Occupation(s): ****Famous Surgeon/Owner of 'Roth Industries'/ Socialite/ Hitman/Murderer for Hire**

**Base of Operations: ****Mostly mobile, does 'work' all over the United States but is mainly focused in the big cities of Los Angeles, San Francisco, Metropolis, Keystone, and now Gotham City. **

**Affiliation(s): **** The Order of 'Murder at Midnight' (her involvement is unknown to all but the other members of the organization).**

**Family/Relatives: ****Mother-Deceased Father-Status Unknown Step-Father-Deceased **

**Villain Name/Aliases: **** 'The Skinner'…'Lady Artemis'… 'Hautschneider' (German word, meaning 'Skin Cutter')**

**Powers/Abilities: **

** -Master Surgeon **

** -Superior skills as a Mortician and Embalmer **

** -Genius-Level Intelligence**

** -Advanced Physical Strength**

** -Excellent strategist/tactician**

** -Extremely high level of Focus and Patience**

** -Eidetic Memory**

** -Some knowledge of Psychology **

** -Proficient use of medical scalpels, not only as surgical tools but as weapons in hand-to-hand combat.**

**Backstory:**

**Tracy's early life is shrouded in mystery. The earliest point that is known about her was when she was in medical school in California (her home state) working towards becoming a doctor. She studied not only in the area of surgery but also in the duties of a mortician and embalmer. She is famous throughout the United States for her skills as a surgeon and has worked on many high profile medical cases. Her step-father was a rich surgeon before his death and Tracy used the money she inherited from her mother to put herself through school and also start up her own business. 'Roth Industries' a company that specializes in new and advanced medical tools and technology. Her company has made her a ton of money allowing her to travel all over the world under the cover of a rich socialite and proper upstanding citizen. However, this is just that…a cover. Tracy is actually a serial killer…a prolific one at that. However, an interesting point about this is that she doesn't kill for vengeance, hate, passion, or any of the other reasons that serial killers usually kill for. Tracy kills mainly for one reason…profit, the green, the money. She doesn't care who the target is as long as she is paid for her work. However, she does have morals. She only kills those who have done great wrongs. She has never, nor will she every kill an innocent. Perhaps the most dangerous thing about her is the fact the she is not insane or crazy. She knows what she does, and is aware of the consequences of her actions. That is why she can't be caught, by the police or any vigilante. It isn't a mindset…it is a must that she isn't caught. Because she knows she can't pass for insane in court. They would find her guilty and have her fried. She doesn't regret what she does though; she sees it as a necessary thing that must be done for the good of society. By killing the wicked ones in the world she is protecting countless innocents. She sees herself as more of an anti-hero then a villain or evil person.**

**Personality: **

**Outwardly calm, suave, and sophisticated Tracy fits in perfectly with the countless socialites of Gotham City crossing paths with even the likes of Bruce Wayne. Her kind and generous nature allows her to blend into the upscale life-style with ease. Many rich people requiring surgery come to Tracy for her expertise. However, that is only one of her callings in life. Away from the busy clutter of the socialite world Tracy is more quiet and withdrawn. Her focus going more towards the next 'job' she will be assigned to carry out. Mysterious and close lipped about her activities outside of the aristocratic circle no one would every guess that she was a killer. Despite her murderous pastime Tracy still maintains a high level of compassion for the less fortunate and people in need, as shown by the amount of money she pours into various charities. Very slow to anger Tracy looks at all situations as logically and reasonably as possible, never letting her anger control her if she can help it. Once angered though Tracy's rage is a force to be reckoned with.**

**M.O (Modus operandi): **

**Tracy's M.O is very complex and precise, her background as a surgeon assures that. The basic process begins with obtaining the victim themselves. Tracy's victims are chosen not by her but by The Order of 'Murder at Midnight'. This organization specializes in connecting killers for hire with people who need people killed or bodies disposed of. Tracy is usually into the body disposal part of the job, the victims coming to her already dead. However she does get quite a few life victims brought to her. The victims are delivered to certain locations where she prepares them for death, disposal, or both. True to her murdering identity of 'The Skinner' Tracy will completely remove all the layers of skin on the victim's body. A difficult process made much similar with her skills as a surgeon. Once the skin is removed she moves on to the next part…embalmment. The victim is first drained of blood before the embalming agents are injected into the body (if the victim is alive when they are brought to her then they are drained of blood before their skin is removed while still alive). After that all other means of identification are taken care of, id cards cut and burned, hydrochloric acid is used on the bottoms of the feet and palms of the hands (since finger prints could still be taken without the flesh). And the fat and muscles are scrapped off of the face, to make facial reconstruction more difficult. **

**These are the only constants between each victim. Countless people have asked for her to kill or dispose of these people so many of them are from all over the U.S. They don't know each other and have no connections. Each client may ask for specific things, such as torture, removal of fingers, dismemberment, an acid bath, removal of eyeballs, whatever they need she can deliver on.**

**Middle men and grunt workers for the organization Tracy answers to deal with the remains at this point. The location that the skinning occurs is changed often and cleaned top to bottom with high grade cleaning agents. Every precaution is taken to make sure that no one figures out who is behind these killings. The fact the murders have occurred many years apart and all over the United States makes it difficult for authorities to track Tracy's identity and whereabouts. Her socialite status and charity work make her less apt to being fingered as a suspect; numerous false identities have been created to make sure the police can't place her in a certain city around the time of the murders. However, her money and power also give her the means to carry out these murders and her abilities as a surgeon could give the authorities clues as to the identity of the murder. **

**In many ways her M.O is the exact opposite of Zsasz. Where he is indiscriminant and haphazard about his kills Tracy is methodical and careful till the very end. Tracy carries out murder in a very organized manner, however during the process of skinning her thoughts become sporadic and disorganized. She enjoys what is she does on some level but not is the sadomasochistic way the Zsasz does. However, like Zsasz there is a darker part to the murders she commits aside from skinning the victims. Instead of carving a mark for her victims Tracy is into a minor version of vampirism. The blood drained from her victims during the embalmment is shipped to her home after the body is disposed of and she enjoys it best mixed with a bit of red wine. In her mind this is a symbolic way to remember her victims.**

**That's all there is to know about my OC at this time, the rest can only be learned by reading further. I hope you all enjoy reading this first intro chapter thing; I'll have the actual first chapter posted in just a little bit.**

**Ok…Chapter starts… In the next post!**

**Peace Out!**

_**Virgo-24**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Of Scars and Skinners**

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**Hello again my readers, as I promised I'm getting the first actual chapter of this story out really soon. Normally I wouldn't post the intro information separate from the first chapter but in this case I decided to go for it. It makes these chapter only around 8,500 words as opposed to over 10,000 words.**

**I'm so excited for the release of Arkham Knight in October (already pre-ordered the game) and I just wanted to post something Batman right know. Just so you guys know though this story isn't one of my main projects. Meaning that it will probably be a long time before I continue to write and post chapters for it. I just really wanted to upload something since I haven't in over a month and I had already written this up awhile back. Either way I hope you all love it to death!**

**Oh! Summary Time! **

**Summary:**

**Tracy Roth has a complicated life. How you ask? She's a rich multi-billionaire who owns a company out in Los Angeles and travels the world drinking champagne and attending charity events. Yes, yes she is… but that's not all. She's also a serial killer. Known by the Media only as 'The Skinner' Tracy does an amazing job of balancing the two half's of her world. Until she came to Gotham City. Between dodging business proposals and date proposals alike and staying out of the Dark Night's radar she has her hands full. But even that isn't the problem she is most concerned about. What you ask…what else could she have to deal with that's more dangerous to her than Batman himself? While walking back to her apartment the surgeon is followed by a killer, a killer who plans to make her his next victim. She knows she's being followed and confronts the murdered who is surprised by her fearless Un-Zombie like behavior. Instead of killing her out right this man decides to figure out just what makes Tracy Roth tick. Who is this man? Why…Victor Zsasz of course, 'The Butcher of Gotham' himself. Yeah, even with the Batman running around her life only became complicated **_**after**_** the psycho serial killer stuck his nose (and knife blades) into her life.**

**Note: Story takes place after the events of Batman Arkham Asylum and starts during the time between Asylum and City and runs through to the events of Arkham City and post Arkham City.**

**Story Rated:**** M-for cursing, lots of blood, violence, graphic gore and sexual themes…not for children, you have been warned. **

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own Batman, the games, the movies, or the comic books. The comics where published by DC Comics and created by Bod Kane and Bill Finger. And the games by Rocksteady Studios.**

"…"**-Talking '…'-Thoughts (…)-Anything else I care to say.**

**Ok…Chapter starts…NOW!**

**Chapter 1: A Murderer in Socialites Clothing **

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"_Murder is not the crime of criminals, but that of law-abiding citizens"_

_-Emmanuel Teney_

"Such a beautiful city…especially at night."

The woman sits in the large bay window seal of the abandoned building, a rundown apartment complex on the edge of the Gotham River. The building sits just on the outskirts of The Narrows, one of the most crime-ridden areas of the city filled to the gills with the worst filth and sin of society. The Narrows were a dangerous place and just being this close to where such horrible deeds as murder, drug running, and rape were committed would make the most cold and hardened of souls shutter. So, such a pretty woman alone at the entrance of the wolf's den should have been shaking or even sobbing at this point. Not this woman.

An angelic figure she was, staring down at the city from far above on the sixth floor of the complex. Her 'friends' at the charity event at the Cyrus Pinkney Museum had warned her endlessly since she had arrived in Gotham City less than twenty-fours ago. 'The city is beautiful, be it day or night. But in the night hours if would be wise to observe its beauty from afar.' That's what they had said, the rich socialites safe and cozy at their charity event in one of the few safe zones of the Bowery. Too wealthy and far away from the slums to really know the dangers that were outside in their city just a few miles in either direction.

The woman didn't care about these 'dangers' though, as they had been called. Sure she walked toe to toe and stiletto to stiletto with many of the rich snobs of the world, but Gotham was _not _her first rodeo. Not that it mattered, whether it was Gotham, Keystone, Metropolis, or Los Angeles it was all the same. The well off pristine sections of the city held themselves in far higher regard then the sections full of the worst denizens of society. The criminals, the mentally ill, the lost and forgotten all congregated in countless individual hellholes of the city. At least that was what she had heard. This was her first visit to the famous (or infamous) city of Gotham after all. Unlike most she had no predisposed opinion as to the true nature of Gotham.

She had to admit though, it _was _a breathtaking city. The dim lights gave the mostly gothic architecture of the haunting city an extra pop of darkness and foreboding. Most found it spooky and disturbing, the woman in the window found it wondrous and captivating. Sure she had been born on the complete opposite coast and was much more accustomed to the loud music and bright neon lights of L.A. But every once and awhile she liked the peace and quiet. Gotham was a big city but surprisingly quiet and still in the night (aside from the occasionally police siren or gun shot in the dark). Hell, she might even buy her a nice apartment somewhere out here on the east coast. Not like she didn't have the money to do it after all. Either here in Gotham or over in Metropolis or Keystone. She wasn't sure which city or even if the idea would come to fruition. But it was nice to dream. She was a 'rich socialite' after all. Rich people like her could buy whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it. Then again she wasn't really the prime example of a normal stick-up-the-ass socialite, not by any means.

Of course this trip east wasn't meant to be a vacation or anything. Being the leader of a large cooperation in California kept her busy enough. Luckily the business she was taking care of now wasn't related to 'Roth Industries'…the company she had spent over a decade building from the ground up. No this east coast business was more charity work. A tour of the major eastern coastal cities. Charities, fundraisers, fancy swanky auctions with lots for sale that was won for more money than most Americans saw in a year. The trip would last about three months. Her charity and social duties wouldn't take all of that time thankfully so she might still get a bit of time away from the company back west. She loved managing her company but sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass. Oh well...no matter what she couldn't find much to complain about.

The sound of her cell phone ringing broke the contemplating woman out of her thoughts. The I-phone covered with a black case with words in dark green block letters reading 'Keep Calm and Chill Out' vibrated against the surface of the table it sat on. The table was across the room but the ring tone was still loud and clear. 'One of these Nights' by The Eagles (don't own that song by the way) assaulted her ears as she reluctantly stood from her cozy spot by the window. She smiled at the song; it was one of her favorites. Many people seemed to find that fact odd. She was only thirty-two after all. Wasn't she a bit young to like The Eagles? She had her mother to thank for that one. Her mom never listened to anything but old rock songs and she had grown up with it. She liked many different types of music now that she was older but she always felt that her mom was so much closer when she listened to the lyrics of the old legends like Billy Idol, Golden Earring, and Rush.

Her red converse ™ left impressions in the thick dirt and dust on the floor as she walked to retrieve her phone and answer it. The neglected wooden floors creaked and groaned in protest as she moved with the grace of the socialite she was. Even though her outfit didn't reflect her multi-billionaire background. A plain black t-shirt, dark skinny jeans and red converse sneakers… not exactly the typical attire of most wealthy people in Gotham. Then again the charity event at the museum had been over for more than an hour by now so she felt that she could wear whatever she pleased. The ring tone ended as she clicked the answer key on the touch screen before placing the phone to her ear…waiting. She knew who it was; they always spoke first so she didn't even bother saying hello.

"Ya there Tracy?" The person on the other end questioned.

"Of course I am, have I ever been late for a job?"

"No, just thinkin' that being in a new city for the first time might have slowed ya down a bit."

"You know better than that, Lady Rhea."

Lady Rhea, better known to the masses as Miranda, a woman Tracy had known yet not known for over ten years. Never once had the two women meet face to face; they had video chatted a handful of times but other than that their conversations were in nothing but texts and e-mails. Still, Tracy saw Miranda as one of her most trusted companions. Miranda was a hard-nosed southern woman from North Carolina with dark blonde hair and sharp green eyes. A big boned woman, who wore nothing but thick leather jackets, cameo army pants, work boots and chewed constantly on the end of a toothpick. Tracy had even known the iron-clad woman to bite a toothpick clean in half if she was pissed enough. She was the one who had given her the opportunity to make a real difference in the world, more than any charity event could ever do.

"Yeah I do, still…I know how much ya like to go site seein' whenever yer in a new place." Miranda shot back lazily, not really one for small talk or inane banter.

"True but there will be time enough for that later."

"Right…very well then."

A pause, one drawn out for effect. Tracy knew what came next, they both did. The orders would be given and then carried out swiftly in the night under the dark sinful skies of Gotham City. Tracy's amber eyes stared out the cracked glass of the window pane, just waiting. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited. This would be the first job she had every pulled in Gotham City. She wasn't much concerned with a legacy or leaving anything behind for future generations. But the idea of leaving her mark here in Gotham City right next to names such as The Joker, Scarecrow, or The Penguin… the thought alone was wonderfully delirious to contemplate.

"The subject should be arrivin' at yer location in 'bout ten minutes. Once yer done just give the number I gave ya a ring and some of the boys'll be 'round to take care of the rest." Miranda spoke pointedly.

"Sounds good…"

"I hope yer prepared for this one. Roman Sionis ain't a man that you'd wanna disappoint."

"Don't worry yourself; I do still remember how to hold a scalpel." Tracy joked lightly.

"'Course ya can, contact me within twenty-four hours."

"Right-O…"

The line clicked off as Miranda hung up from her end. Tracy ended the call a moment later and slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans after turning it to silent. The brown haired goddess returned to the window, placing her hands against the window seal. She watched the city of Gotham for a moment more; the sky wasn't total black like you would see out in the country somewhere. The city lights caused the sky to look deep purple instead, the stars unseen as well. Still it was such an amazing sight to behold. Having lived in cities all of her life such things as stars and a totally dark night here nothing but a myth.

"Time to begin I suppose…yes, time indeed." Tracy spoke to no one, a smile crawling across her face. A very dark smile.

She turned from the window, heading down the six flights of stairs into the bowels of the neglected building. The empty halls echoing with her footsteps like a ghost long forgotten. Yes, the time had come. The time to make a mark in Gotham City had finally arrived. Shit, maybe even two marks, or three… why stop at one? Oh well, we can only wait and see.

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'God…this fucker just won't shut-up.' Tracy thought with slight irritation as the man strapped to a table in the next room continued to scream his head off.

Tracy sigh deeply, they could never just be quiet could they? Then again, if they didn't struggle or protest the process wouldn't be nearly as fun now would it? Of course according to what Tracy knew about the man he sort of had every right to be screaming. Although his screams were mainly curses as opposed to begging for mercy like he should have been. Tracy run through everything she knew about the victim, her eidetic memory once again serving to her advantage.

_Alias-Sammy G_

_Real Name-Unknown_

_Affiliation- Roman Sionis A.K.A 'Black Mask'_

_Occupation-thug/enforcer for many of Black Mask's illegal operations, particularly money exchanges_

That was everything that Tracy found of interest about the man's background. Apparently Sionis had found out that Sammy G. had been skimming money from the payments he was supposed to be delivering to various criminal connections. The infamous mob boss must have been in a generous mood that day because all he did was cut Sammy G. off his payroll and had him beat to within an inch or two of his life. From what Tracy had heard about this 'Black Mask' as he was known in the criminal underworld most people who crossed him weren't allowed to live after pulling something like that. However, Sammy G. clearly wasn't the sharpest scalpel in the set because he had gone to the cops and offered to flip them details on some of Black Masks operations in exchange for a reduced sentence. Idiot…he should have been grateful for being alive at all. Then he just had to go and poke the bear with a stick. That was where she came in. Under the gauze of a moral upstanding socialite, business woman, and world renowned surgeon Tracy was something far more dangerous. A serial killer… A serial killer working for one of the most secret criminal organizations in the world. The group known as 'Dolofonía sta Mesánychta' (A/N: This is Greek which I think roughly translates at 'Murder at Midnight'). The organization she worked for had but one purpose… connecting murders with people who wanted someone murdered.

Tracy was a socialite visiting Gotham to do charity work for the next three months. But she was also a murderer for hire. She had been recommended to Roman Sionis for her amazing talent of 'making people disappear even though they were right in front of you'. Tracy should have been at least a little bit nervous about this job. She was by far one of the most requested killers in the organization but she had never done a job for 'Black Mask' before. And considering the mobster had sent Sammy G. to her for punishment Sionis wasn't one to be screwed with. But Tracy was a woman of business and logic. She'd done this so long that it was second nature to her. She was going to nail this job, collect her payment, and then head back to her posh rented apartment in the Diamond District for a glass of red wine.

The west coast socialite scanned herself in the full length mirror leaning against a wall covered in dirt and peeling brown paint. In order to do her 'job' she had to change her attire a bit. Her short form was now covered in a set of hospital standard scrubs, hers being a pure white instead of the normal light blue or green. Her thick brown hair and been tied back and was now held under a red bandana with black skulls adorning it, an efficient alternative to an actually surgeon's cap. Of course if she had been going off to a real surgery she would have never gotten away with wearing it. White elbow length latex gloves (two sets, one on over the other) covered her arms and a white lab coat was worn over the scrubs. The only color on her was the bandana and her red converse that she hadn't removed. A standard 3 ply surgical mask hung loosely around her neck; she would pull it up when she entered 'The Surgery'. She had no face shield but it wasn't really needed. Perfect…everything was perfect. Pulling the mask over her mouth the socialite and master surgeon turned and entered 'The Surgery'; eager to meet her patient.

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"Damn it to hell! You motherfucking bastards! Whoever you are let me go or I swear I'll kill ya!"

Sammy G. had been shouting and swearing threats for what felt like forever and still no one had responded. Someone had to be nearby, right? He hadn't been left here to die had he? The poor man had no clue what had happened. One minute he had been walking home after a few pints of brew at a local bar and the next he was strapped to a table in some basement. Well, he thought it was a basement. It was damp and dark enough to be. Unfortunately the only light in the room was hanging right above him and it only illuminated enough to see a few feet around him in all directions. Then again the light was so harsh that is was even harder to see anything clearly.

"Damn it…answer me you son of a bitch!" He shouted again, his voice becoming hoarse from so much use.

"There is no need to shout, I'm right over here." A soft feminine voice finally answered back.

Sammy G. snapped his head towards the sound of the voice but the darkness was too thick to see who was speaking.

"Oh, my apologies…I suppose that a bit more light is in order."

In a blinding flash the room was flooded with light. Harsh light like the one above him. The lackey's eyes slammed shut before opening again and blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the brightness. Tracy chuckled lowly, always so amusing.

"What the-? Who are you? What's goin' on?!" Sammy struggled once more, but the straps around his wrists, ankles, and waist held him in place easily.

"Well, the first question isn't important. To answer your second question, what is going on…my friend, you should already know the answer to _that_."

"What the hell are you talkin' about!?"

Tracy stepped closer to the restrained man, so close that she was hovering right above him. His eyes had finally adjusted to the harsh light and they widened like saucers when they landed on the woman staring down at him from above. A doctor dressed all in white…what the fuck was going on? Sammy G. was getting ready to ask that very question until he actually locked eyes with his captor. Her eyes…they were red.

No…not just red. A dark menacing red… a red that seemed to burn holes into his very soul.

A bloody red.

Tracy smirked under the mask on her face, no matter how many times she had stared down at her victims like this they all became terrified once they saw her red eyes. Mind you red wasn't a natural eyes color but still. The surgeon moved away from the man, ignoring him for a moment as she moved to the small steel table only a foot away. Ah, her favorite tools all laid out nice and neat. If she were in a real surgery there would be many more tools to play with but for this job the only things really needed where the scalpels.

A set of bright and shiny stainless steel blades custom mixed with a bit of titanium alloy for extra strength rested harmlessly on the table before her. Their shiny blades glinting sharply under the surgery level lights. Tracy examined each individual blade, making sure they were all there (A/N: if you've never seen a scalpel before it may be helpful to look up the different sizes to get a better idea of what the blades look like) . Yes, all seventeen where there. 140mm handle length… blades number 10, 10a, 11, 12a, 12b, 15, 15c, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, and 25… perfect. Tracy picked up the number 10 blade, one that she would be using quite a bit this evening. Running her fingers gently over the handle, getting a feel for holding this particular blade. Normally scalpels could be reused as long as the blades were replaced. However, in order to avoid detection every time she was on a contract for the organization a whole different set of scalpels was used each time.

"W-who are you? W-w-what's goin' o-on…" Sammy G. stammered like a frightened little girl.

"I've already told you, who I am is unimportant. And you know why you're here."

"N-no! I don't have a damn clue why…"

"Roman Sionis…"

That was it, just two words. Sammy G.'s eyes widened even further. Oh no… oh god no! It couldn't be. How had Black Mask known he had gone to the cops!?

"See, you _do _know why you're here don't you? I was told you had crossed Sionis, and it's my job to see that you're _punished_ for that and everything else you've done."

"Oh God! W-what are ya gonna do to me?!" The embezzler screamed, panic flowing through his body as he struggled fruitlessly against his restraints.

"Hmmm…Mr. Sionis wasn't all that specific as to _what_ he wanted done to you, aside from your death of course. Although, I do remember something about _torture _being acceptable."

Sammy paled, so much so that he looked like he'd been covered in white powder. The shock had even momentarily caused him to stop struggling. Aside from the medical scalpels Tracy had a kitchen chief's knife, cleaver, and machete at her disposal. Although they were used more for the torture part of her job as opposed to the surgical one. Grabbing the chief's knife from the steel table Tracy returned to her victims' side, the criminal's struggling having once again continued.

"Please! Please, no! Oh god no!"

'Now you beg for your sorry life, huh?' Tracy thought darkly.

"God's not going to save you my friend…no one is."

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The knife was brought up, the lights dancing off the eight inch blade like a dangerous strobe light. The man screamed more, his dull blue eyes so wide they looked as though they would pop right out of his skull at any moment. Tracy grabbed the man's left hand, holding down the fingers to that they wouldn't wiggle away. The man tried to move his fingers away but the restraints on his wrists made it impossible. The knife descended. Slowly, slowly, until it rested just above Sammy's left pinky. Again he screamed for mercy.

"Please! I'll do whatever you want! Just let me go…you don't have to do this!"

"Your right… I don't have to. I'm being paid to…And I enjoy doing this."

Pressure was added to the blade…the sickening sound of flesh being cut roughly and a bone being ripped away from a joint.

A scream…A blood-curdling scream…Echoing off the aging cement walls of the basement around them.

A small fountain of thick, goopy blood squirted out of the stub that was left after the removal of the finger. The blood streamed out as though it would never stop, the reddish-black substance flowing into the two inch deep depression at the edge of the table. It wasn't a gurney after all…it was an embalming table.

**(Warning! The following portion of this story contains detailed descriptions describing the process of embalming. These descriptions are used to explore Tracy's modus operandi as well as her thoughts during a murder in the most in-depth way possible. Some may find the details to be very graphic and disturbing in nature. If you have a weak stomach or are offended by such things it is advised by the writer that you either skip this section completely or exit the current story. Although if you've already read this far it is assumed that you will not be too disturbed by what you find ahead. Thank you…)**

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**Tracy's POV (Point of View)**

He's stopped screaming after I took off the last one of'em. Thank the never present god's.

He's just lying here now, breathing in and out, in and out, over and over.

They always look so funny after their digits are gone.

Have half a mind to start singing 'This little piggy when to Market'.

Not now, too busy. This is where it gets real interesting.

First though, gotta get rid of the digits.

The boy's never set everything up close enough together.

Hell, the container of hydrochloric acid is all the way in the corner.

With a sigh I gather up the little digits scattered across the embalming table.

One...four…seven…nine… ten fingers.

And now the toes.

One...four…seven…nine…hmm, where's? Ah! Ten…there we go.

Almost lost that toe, can't have that.

All twenty digits on the steel tray. I leave him for a moment, just a moment.

Crossing the room to the giant Mason jar, half full of hydrochloric acid.

Toss in the finger and toes. The acid's already burning the flesh away, I can hear it fizzle.

The acid'll burn all the skin and meat away, most of the bones too.

I return to my patient's side quickly. Wouldn't want him flacking out just yet.

The pain's gotten to him, his soul-less eyes even darker with residual agony.

I place the metal tray on the floor out of the way.

He whimpers and shifts away as much as he can. Pathetic…

I hope not all of Black Mask's men are this much of a baby.

"P-please…no more…" The man begs my again. I lean in close and hiss darkly…

"How many people have begged you to spare them the pain and suffering?"

"How many have you ignored? Why should I show you mercy when you have shown none?"

He blinks lethargically… his wounded hands and feet twitching pitifully.

They look funny with just stubs where the digits belong.

The blood on the table is so beautiful… in its own special way.

Blood… the liquid of life. It's splattered all over his hands and feet and well as the table.

Some of it has drained down the hole at the end of the table trench.

The tubes connected to the hole carrying the red life liquid to a large brass keg on the floor.

The average human male has between eight and ten pints of blood in their body.

Did you know that?

The keg at my feet can hold about five, it'll take two for all the blood this one's gonna bleed.

"S-stop this…p-please, stop." He begged once again, useless.

I ignore him as I grab another favorite embalming tool…the jugular tube.

Nothing special really, a flexible rubber tube with a small curved blade.

But this was the tool that would bleed this whiny fool, once and for all.

**Normal POV**

Without a word the surgeon pushed Sammy G.'s neck to the side, locating his jugular vein. His already shaking breath shook more as though he when what was coming. A moment of silence passed, the only sound being the injured man's uneven, raspy breaths. In one swift move Tracy stabbed the curved blade into his neck. Wiggling the blade up and down once to cut the vein properly. Sammy let loose a startled gasp that transformed into a horrified gurgle. Again the captured man began to struggle with the restraints, but it was far too late. There was nothing he could do now. Blood, thick and red began to gush from the sliced jugular vein, more and more and more. Most of it flowed through the tube attached to the blade, a bit splashed against the dying man's ever paling neck and the silver surface of the embalming table. A river of blood began to flow down the trench built into the table. Tracy though vaguely of the first plague God set upon the Egyptians…turning the waters of The Nile to blood. The blood flowed slowly, just as Sammy G.'s struggling and protests became slower and slower. Soon, they will have stopped altogether.

**Tracy's POV**

The red is flowing, the pumps are going.

The red will run it shall, run down…down...down.

Did you know that there are actually four jugular veins in the human neck?

Yes, it is true. Two on each side, an internal one and an external one.

Sammy-boy's lucky I only cut the outer one.

If you cut the inter one you'd bleed to death in only two minutes.

I just cut the outer one, so he'll get an extra three minutes to try and suck down air.

His dull eyes dart around, the pupils dilated and searching.

Searching for what I've no clue.

The bright light that comes to you as you're dying maybe?

I pull the metal table containing my tools closer to the embalming table.

I'll be needing my blades very soon.

Two minutes gone by, only three left.

Ol' Sammy's not looking so hot at the moment.

His eyes have stopped dart around now.

He's just starin' up at the ceiling.

I move to the right side of the table, grabbing another tool of the trade from the floor.

Another tube, similar to the one stealing the blood away from Sammy G.

But this one's gonna put stuff back in instead.

I adjust the values on the glass containers on the floor.

The ultimate embalming liquid rests inside.

A mix of water, methanol, formaldehyde, and a few other nasty little things.

I cut the external jugular on the right side of his throat this time.

He's so out of it he barely registers it, only two minutes left before he's unconscious.

The tube in interested into the cut and the pressure system turned on.

The system of pressure attached to the formaldehyde containers is very helpful.

Makes the stuff move faster.

I watch the light brownish fluid flow up the tube into his neck.

The color's too much like the Jersey tab water for my tastes.

He's stopped moving, although his chest is still rising and falling…barely.

Only a minute or so more.

I undo the leather straps on his wrists, ankles, and waist.

He won't be fighting back anymore.

The heart beat slows, the heart beat slows…

When it finally stops…nobody knows.

Thu-dump…Thu-dump…Thu-dump…

Silence…

Ah, such a lovely sound, the sound of nothing.

The world's so busy and noisy you rarely get a chance to listen to silence at all.

And so the last breath had been draw and the victim is dead,

But as the little light that was left fades from his already darkened eyes…I know.

The job is _not_ done.

**Normal POV**

Tracy spared the clock on the far wall a momentary glance as she moved about to gather more materials, nine-thirty…still fairly early but she had another two to three hours of work ahead of her at this point. Now on to the next part…setting the features. Normally feature setting was done before the embalming liquid was injected; but for the sake of getting everything done, the body moved, and the evidence removed in a timely manner some things must be reworked a bit. Grabbing a pair of medical scissors the skilled surgeon went to work cutting the clothes off of the body. Black suit jacket and suit pants, black turtle neck, and scuffed black dress shoes. The standard mobster outfit if you think about it. And of course the underwear, tighty-whities (for the love of all things unholy she had no clue why). Oh well, not like the poor dead fellow needed them anymore. The cut up clothes were folded slightly and taken to the table that contained the huge jar of hydrochloric acid. The sliced fabric was placed into an empty medical tray with deep sides. In less than a second the socialite turned murder dumped in a good amount of lighter fluid from the squirt bottle in one of the drawer and set the mass of fabric alight with a single match.

Tracy turned away from the burning fabric and returned to the corpse's side. Setting the facial features seemed like a rather pointless thing when the body you were setting them on wasn't going to be seen in a funeral home by anyone. But it was a necessary process not matter how you sliced it up. Luckily the only things that needed setting were the eye lids and mouth.

First the eyes, a tiny piece of cotton placed under each eye lid and a plastic eye cap put in over that. This was done in both eyes in mere moments for someone who had done it countless times before. A moment more of fussing with they and it looked as though his eyes were only shut loosely in sleep. That was the easy bit; the mouth was the pain in the ass, no matter what. First question…how the hell do you close the mouth without sewing it shut? Answer, you do sew it. Although not in the way most people thing about. A piece of clear suture string threaded through the end of a curved needle. About three times bigger than an actually sewing needle and curved but still a needle. Pushing her hands into the corpse's mouth her gloved fingers moved with experience. Pushing the flapping lower lip down Tracy pushed the curved needle deep into the skin on the inside of the lower lip. In and out, in and out, in and out. Three times into the flesh, then a twist back, pushing the curved needle towards the roof of the mouth.

A moment of blind searching and the nasal cavity entrance at the back of the throat was located. With endless precision the curved needle was gently threaded up into the nasal cavity until the bright stainless steel was seen protruding out of the left nostril. The action was repeated for the right side and the two ends of suture string were tugged together and tied firmly. The empty space of the mouth was filled with a bit of medical caulk, just to help the mouth hold its shape. And it was done, the features were set and the next phase could commence.

**Tracy's POV**

Time for the fun past…

Yes, the fun part indeed.

Time to cut this little one open; right down the middle.

Blade 15c, perfect for splitting a line down the center of the chest.

Press the thumb against the back of the blade, add force, and pull down.

There's just something about the sound of the skin and meat being cut with a scalpel.

I can't describe it to you; you just have to hear it.

A single straight cut, all the way from the base of the throat to the top of the navel.

A few more cuts…

Two at the end of the first cut, one cut to the left and one to the right.

And two at the top of the first cut to the left and right, across the collar bone in a V shape.

Not deep cuts, not deep enough to get to the rib-cage.

The two large flaps of skin shrink away after being separated from the meat underneath.

Scrap the muscle tissue connecting the flesh and meat.

And just fold the two flaps outwards like the cover of a book.

Such a precise action but having done it so many times it takes only a moment.

Now comes the meat, cutting it back until you see the white bones of the ribs.

Now for the real fun…cracking them.

Grabbing the bolt cutters smears blood all over the handles but no matter.

Wedge the top left rib between the jaws and…_SNAP!_

Snap, repeat… Snap, repeat… Snap, repeat…

Twenty-four different ribs, in sets of two make up the human rib cage.

Yes…men do actually have one fewer rib then women.

I should know…I've cut enough people open to be able to tell.

Of course, in my line of work the idea of God is nothing but a bad joke.

So no, I don't believe God…but I do believe in sin.

I've been swimming in it for years.

And besides… if there was a 'God'…people like me…

Well, they wouldn't even exist, now…would they?

**Normal POV**

Tracy clipped each rib in half just as methodically as you please. The sharp, sickening sound of splintering bones bouncing off the hard cement walls of the basement. Once all twenty-three ribs had been cut the top part of the rib-cage just, lifted off. Like a piece of some twisted human jigsaw puzzle. Without the protection of the ribcage all the organs of the corpse's body were clearly visible. Every single one of them Tracy could name but had not the desire to at the moment. All still very warm, and bright in color; anywhere from a bright pink color to a dark purple. Beautiful… aside from the liver that is. Ol' Sammy G. liked to throw back at few too many alcoholic beverages whose quality was more akin to motor oil then actual alcohol.

Tsk. Tsk. Clearly the man had never been told that the body was a temple and was meant to be kept in prime condition. Ah well...nothing to be done about it now. Aside from filling the chest cavity with cavity fluid. Cavity fluid was basically a stronger version of the embalming fluid that was already being pumped into the veins and arteries. The cavity fluid had to be pumped into the chest cavity over the organs, to preserve them and all. But first… their contents had to be removed, one of the more disgusting parts of the embalming process. Not that it bothered Tracy all that much.

The small and large intestines, lungs, bladder, stomach, chambers of the heart, and gallbladder. All hollow organs that had to be drained out. How do you do that? Why, trocars of course. A trocar, a medical tool that at first glance may very well look like a large metal cross with a sharp point at the bottom end. But as Tracy probably stated before she doesn't believe in a god so a religious artifact of any kind would be useless to her. No a trocar was a device with a…darker purpose. The end opposite the pointed hollow blade was made to be screwed into a suction tube so that the organ contents could be suction out with little fuss. But before the tubes were screwed into each trocar first the bladed end had to be pushed into each hollow organ. Easy…

A small plastic tub was pulled out from under the embalming table and the lid popped right off. Ten metal trocars sat inside, stacked almost as neatly as cord wood. Eight of the ten were removed and placed on the medical table next to the various scalpels. The sharp tips of the trocars shone brightly under the lights as Tracy raised the first over the cut up corpse of what had once been Sammy G. With a short sharp trust downward the trocar punctured the thin outer wall of what was the stomach. One down…only seven more to go.

**Tracy's POV**

At this moment you are thinking that I am crazy.

I can assure you that I am not.

Whether or not you believe me is entirely up to you.

Regardless of what you believe know that I do not care.

I do not do this to offend you; I do this because I can.

In the end I do more harm than good.

You ask "How can you know that?"

And the answer is that I can simply feel it.

No matter if what I do is right or wrong… the results are for the good of the world.

But I digress, for I did not come here to speak of ethics and philosophy with you.

It is time to drain the organs.

Drain them like a dried up well.

All eight trocars are in and the suction is applied.

The suction removes air as well as the contents.

Watching the organs deflate like balloons is fascinating.

No matter how many times you see it.

Although… I could do without the noise.

"Squish squash! Squish squash!'

Ugh, nasty business that. Ah well… Nothing to be done about it.

Oh! My apologies! I forget there are so many of you out there with weak stomachs.

Pretend I didn't say anything.

Anyway, on with the job. The next step. The longest step.

The most tedious step. The most exhilarating step.

Complete removal of the skin.

Yeah, you may not want to stick around for this part.

**Normal POV**

Tracy grabbed another scalpel from the medical table… the number 23 blade. This one built for the longer incisions from the top of the thigh down to the ankles and the width of the shoulders down the back of wrists. More long cuts are added, two starting from the inside of each wrist up to the inside of the arm. And two more from the back of the thighs down to the back side of the ankles. These first eight incisions are made quickly and effortlessly. As they serve only as guideline's for the rest of the work. The 23 is swapped out for the 18 blade. Another one for deep cuts and sometimes scraping although these cuts are not as long as the ones made by the 23. The cuts made with the 18 connect the larger cuts together. Blood begins to leak from the body now, although most of it was removed the vessels close to the surface of the skin are still full of the once life-giving liquid. The still warm and sticky substance flows lazily from the deep cuts in the body. It covers the pale limbs and the cold metal table, coloring the white and silver with rivers of maroon. From the right angle the red looks almost black under the harsh medical lights strung up from the ceiling. The task moves forward and Tracy is swept away with the flow of blood. Blades 24, 11, 10, and several others get plenty of use as two hours in 'The Surgery' tic on into three.

Once the trocars had finished removing all of the bodily fluids Tracy removes the tubes and tools from their position in the chest cavity and places the trocars in a tub of bleach water to soak. The skin on the arms and legs is removed first. With the cuts that have already been made the process is not unlike a snake shedding its skin. Or an aristocratic woman peeling off a long silk glove. The body is flipped and another incision is made from the base of the neck down to the length of the spine. The cut is not deep enough to scrape the spine though; the topmost layers are the only ones that Tracy is after. Did you know that the thickness of skin on of the human body can range from being half a millimeter to almost 4 millimeters thick? Just another one of many reasons why Tracy's method is so difficult to pull off. All that must be removed is the skin, but the variance in thickness makes the procedure even more complicated. But again Tracy has been doing this for many years now. Such concerns are meaningless to her.

The skin of the arms and legs are pulled inside out and off like the twisted human jigsaw puzzle that they are. Smaller cuts are made across the back and the skin is folded out like the pages of a book in the same way as the chest. Without skin the veins, fat, and muscle of the arms and legs are set out for the world to see (although nobody but Tracy will ever notice them as they truly are under the surgical lights). The embalming liquid that is still being pumped into the body through the slice in the jugular vein has begun to run out of the veins closest to the surface. The sickly brown liquid creeps slowly as it mixes and melds with the red around it. There's so much blood it looks like someone butchered a cow. Although no one could see it Tracy's lips twitched slightly from behind the surgical mask she wore. She has a strong and dark compulsion to lean down and lap at the pools of blood that littered the embalming table. She restrained herself though; she's a doctor after all… a professional. Such desires will have to wait until later. For now the removal of the skin and completion of the job is the most important thing.

The largest portion of skin comes off next, the skin from the neck down. Since the stomach and back have already been opened up removing the skin wasn't all that hard. Two long slices down opposite sides of the rib cage are all that is needed before the rest can be removed. The skin on the back comes off in one piece and the skin on the front comes off in one piece. Females are always easier to skin the males. Women don't have a certain… organ that gets in the way of a clean and easy cut. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it) Sammy G's been long dead. So it's not like he'll miss… yeah, you get the idea. Just a little hack with the kitchen cleaver and _that_ problem is taking care of.

Tracy's mind was far ahead. Although her eyes see and her ears hear everything as it is she's not completely in the present. She thinks of the rest of the work there is to be done tonight. And all the work in the many nights ahead. Her work… the work of Tracy Roth. The work of the socialite… and the work of the murder. Charity events, fundraisers, drinking Brandy and Chardonnay with the elite and upper class of Gotham City. Moving to a new 'Surgery' location, getting another contract, another torture job, more blood to drain, more skin to remove, more lives to end… And more good to do.

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**(Author's Note: This ends the highly graphic portion of this chapter, the writer hopes that you all enjoyed the detail and were not offended or made sick by the words above. The writer takes no responsibility for your current state. Thank-you and have a nice day.) **

It was done…

The skinning was complete, the task fulfilled. But the contract was not yet carried out. Black Mask had asked to meet when the deed was done, to deliver the payment and all. Tracey hated meeting with clients… weak rich fools who had to hire people like her to do their dirty work for them. But in this case she was dealing with a mob boss, a man who knew how to get his hands into the work. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

The Skinner's phone vibrated from across the room for the second time that evening. Her flaming red eyes snapped to the device with a look of annoyance, she hated being interrupted during surgery. Even if she had finished the skinning and embalming she still had to clean herself up and be presentable for a meeting with her contractor. Removing her blood and gore caked medical gloves Tracy answered the phone.

"Yo boss…ya there?" A male voice spoke over the phone.

Tracey recognized the voice instantly, one of the grunts that was in charge of cleaning up the mess that the skinning always left behind. Tomas was his real name but the other grunts simply called him Ridge. Tracey let put a barely audible growl…he had called before the agreed upon time.

"You know I can't stand being interrupted." Tracey pointed out sharply.

"S-sorry boss, head lady's orders."

"Head Lady? Ah, Lady Rhea…I see. Very well, what is it then?"

"Black Mask called the Head Lady, change of plans. The mob boss wants to see the body, to confirm the death. Need to get to the meet place earlier than planned."

"But of course, fine. When you arrive begin cleaning up the mess and preparing the body for transport. I'll be a few floors up. Don't…bother…me. I need to shower."

"Right, sure thing…Lady Artemis."

**Tracey's POV**

Sometimes I wish that Miranda would _consult_ with me before she went and changed the plans around. No matter though, nothing too big to deal with. But before I met with Black Mask I needed a shower, even with the surgery clothes on I had quite a bit of blood on me. I looked in the mirror and examined myself. The blood had bleed through my latex gloves and had left my skin with a slight pinkish tinge. Most of the blood was splattered across the front of my white scrubs. White scrubs, not blue or green…red always looks so much better against white you know. Messy, messy, it can't be helped though; blood is an important part of my business. This one anyways…

**Normal POV**

The Skinner ascended from the basement depths, out of the surgery for the night. Climbing two sets of stairs the socialite entered the bathroom that had been prepared for her. It had everything she needed to clean herself and the tub once she was finished. Miranda may have been annoying at times but Tracey would admit that the woman knew how to cover evidence as well as relax after a kill. The killer removed her scrubs to reveal smooth, creamy skin underneath. She had removed her clothes all together before putting on the scrubs, can't have them getting covering in blood can we? The bloody scrubs were wrapped in a towel to be burned later. The tub was full of shampoo, soap, and everything else she would need to remove evidence of the crime she had committed.

The steady sound of water filled the room as Tracey turned the knobs of the tub on and stepped under the hot spray. In a way Tracey both loved and hated the shower at the end of a kill. Loved feeling clean and pure once more… but hating all the blood, and the proof of her actions turning from ruby red to watery pink and left to slide harmlessly down the drain.

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**End of Chapter**

**Next Time: Meeting with Black Mask**

Wow, I scared myself writing that one. Well, that's all for this chapter. Sorry it was so long, the rest of the chapters well probably be shorter. So, what did you think? Did you like it? Do you have any suggestions? Just let me know, I love constructive criticism. But do…not…flame…or…troll. Thanks.

Also I want to remind all the readers that this isn't a story that I'm working on very heavily right now. I'm uploading this because I'm so pumped for Batman Arkham Knight and I've been feeling horrid since I haven't uploaded anything for my two main stories in over a month. This is just something to do to get this idea out there and see what people think of it. I will finish this one day just don't look for regular updates because I just can't promise them right know.

Regardless, all of you who really like it and want to see more of it please like and review and tell me what you enjoyed about it or what you think I could improve on. Reviews make me so happy!

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**PEACE OUT!**

**_Virgo-24_**


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